


The Raven

by RLWoodson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RLWoodson/pseuds/RLWoodson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Castiel is given a choice: debtors’ prison, or a lifetime as a servant of the king.  With the help of fellow servant Gabriel, Castiel learns the ropes.  However, there are no instructions in the manual that can tell him what to do when he meets one King Dean Winchester.  Destiel, bit of Sabriel.  Originally posted on fanfiction.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Knock knock knock._ “Soldiers of the castle! Open up!” Castiel flinched against the harsh knocks at his door. He was ready for this; the door was barricaded with a table and three chairs, which was all the furniture he had left, save his little cot in the corner and the sparse bookcase. He waited silently near the back door of the grimy little house, a bag of cheese and bread tied securely to his back. The soldiers would get in eventually, and then he would run. The horrors the woods had to offer would be better than the fate that awaited him if he were caught.

Something heavy hit the door, and a chair toppled out of the way. _Don’t shake, Castiel Novak,_ he told himself. _Be strong._ Another hit, and another chair fell to the ground. The raven-haired man opened the back door an inch, posed to run at any moment. The front door burst halfway open, a soldier tumbling into the table, and Castiel took off into the dead field behind his house.

Blood rushed in his ears and his heart pounded faster than his feet on the dry soil. He snuck a peek behind him; three soldiers were sprinting towards him and quickly gaining ground. They usually sent one or two soldiers, maybe, but not three. As he turned his head back around, Castiel’s foot hit a poorly placed rock and he fell on his face, hard. He had just managed to prop himself up on his elbows and take a wheezing breath before he was pushed back down into the dirt.

“Tie him up,” a gruff voice ordered. Castiel’s wrists were bound behind him and he was hauled to his feet. The soldier who had spoken sized him up as he fought back tears. It would be debtors’ prison for him. His land had betrayed him one last time. It wasn’t his fault that the farm was left to him after his parents were killed. He wasn’t a farmer.

“How old are you?” one of the soldiers holding his arm asked.

“T-Twenty,” Castiel’s voice wavered.

“And are you ill or crippled?” the same soldier asked.

“No,” he answered more evenly.

“You will be given a choice,” the first soldier that spoke, Maybe the head soldier? told him, sheathing his sword. Castiel tilted his head, confused. A choice? What, swift death by beheading or a drawn out death in the prison? A bird squawked overhead as they stood awkwardly in the yellow grass. “The first choice is, of course, debtors’ prison until pardoned by the King.” Castiel chuckled humorlessly. The King didn’t pardon anyone. “Or,” the soldier continued with a glare, “you may work as a servant in the castle. You are young and able-bodied. You will be provided with living quarters and food, if you pledge to work tirelessly for the King.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped open. Cells packed like sardines with dirty debtors and criminals, or a perpetually clean castle? Brown gruel or food from a real kitchen? “You may have a moment to think,” the head soldier said dryly.

“Servant,” Castiel blurted. “I want to be a servant at the castle.”

“A wise choice,” the head soldier motioned to one of the men holding Castiel’s arms, and they re-tied his hands in front of him. A little of the pressure in the blue-eyed man’s shoulders was released. “You may bring with you to the castle three personal items.”

They were soon in the doorway of Castiel’s tiny house. The castle men were silently watching him, probably waiting for him to select his three items. Castiel walked slowly through his house, most likely for the last time. He spotted a small painted picture on his hearth. It was of his parents smiling and holding baby Castiel in their arms. He turned away from it. His parents weren’t worth remembering. He quickly chose his favorite storybook from when he was a child and his short-feathered pen, soft and emerald green. It was the most expensive thing he owned, and the pen he taught himself to write with. They went into the little sack.

“One more thing,” the head soldier reminded him. Castiel almost told them there was nothing left for him to take, but a strange feeling brought him to the foot of his bed. He strained to reach under his bed with his arms tied in front of him, but with a grunt, he retrieved a cube-like object wrapped in a cloth.

“What is it?” the soldier narrowed his eyes. Castiel unwrapped the little cube- a box, small enough to fit in his palm. It was ornately carved and pieces of it were inlaid with gold. There was a muted gold oval where the lock should have been, and he had no key. He had never had a key.

“It’s a family heirloom,” the black-haired man told the soldier. It was technically true; his parents had guarded the box like it contained a treasure for his entire life. Something compelled him to keep it even after they died. They never opened it, and neither did he. He tried, but nothing would make the box opened. It couldn’t be broken or burnt, and there seemed to be nothing inside it. “There’s nothing inside it,” his words echoed his thoughts. “Shake it.”

The soldier picked up the little carved box and shook it. No sound came from within, no rattling or thumping or even a change in weight to indicate that there was something inside. The soldier immediately lost interest and wrapped it carelessly in the cloth. “Alright then,” he said, motioning to the door still half barricaded with furniture. “Let’s go.”

The soldiers were quiet as Castiel was placed in the little cart. Two sat with him in the back and one drove the horses. The shoddy carriage was uncovered, and the people in the village stared as he was paraded to the center of the kingdom. He thanked the lord his village was small and fairly near to the castle. The ride was short, and he was able to stave off the doubt and worry that settled in around him. Did they beat the servants at the castle? Were the servants’ quarters like a prison? What would he have to do there?

As the sun sunk lower in the sky, the cart came upon the castle wall, twenty feet high and made of huge polished stones. The soldier driving whistled up to the guards, who gave a responding whistle before raising the iron gates.

Castiel barely had time to take in the lush green grounds and intricate design of the castle before the cart disappeared inside a stable. There were nine horses, Castiel counted, and three stable boys. The large animals stomped their feet and brayed at him.

The sun was setting rapidly, and the walk to the castle gave Castiel some time to think. He was escorted by one of the soldiers, who had untied his hands. “No use for it now,” he had said. “Can’t get out of these walls without us.” The dark-haired man ignored the soldier’s small talk. He decided he would just stay quiet, keep his head down. If he attracted no attention to himself, maybe life here would be good. Pleasant, even.

The corridors the two walked through were dark and stony, but clean and lit with many torches. _A good sign,_ he thought. “...Anna.” The soldier had been speaking.

“Sorry, what?” Castiel turned the corner.

“Anna,” a petite redhead stood in front of him. “I am the Servant Keeper. Thank you,” she nodded to the soldier, who handed her the little bag filled with Castiel’s things and walked quickly away. “Please follow me.” Castiel followed her up some stairs and through a larger corridor. Through the windows, Castiel could see the stars in the dark sky. They were the same stars that he always looked at from his own window. It was hard to believe though.

“The servants sleep two in each room, and there’s only one vacancy left.” She hesitated. “I apologize for him in advance. The tasks for each day are written out at the end of the hall, and as long as they are done quietly and efficiently, you are free to spend your day at leisure so long as you don’t disturb the staff or visitors. I’m sure he’ll give you a tour tomorrow.” She handed Castiel his small bag and inclined her head towards a door. It looked ordinary, but Castiel was nervous. He looked back towards Anna, but she was already halfway down the hall.

The door looked weathered, but it didn’t make a sound as it swung open. A man lay on a plain bed, looking pensively at a dusty book. Castiel shut the door behind him, and the man didn’t look up. He was short, with long, dark blonde hair and a shadow of facial hair that seemed to darken in the flickering candlelight. Then the man did something Castiel would have never imagined- he raised his hand as if to turn a page, and plucked a chocolate out from behind the book and popped it into his mouth. Pale hazel eyes met Castiel’s deep blue ones in amusement. “Hungry?”

So this man was to be his instructor, overseer, or something like that. He wanted to ask a thousand questions. What did he do now? What would be expected of him? Was life here okay? “How’d you get that in here?” is what fell from his lips instead.

The man grinned and set his book down, revealing a small cheese box filled with little chocolates. “I wasn’t going to let them toss all these.” He tsked. “What a waste. I offered to clean up.” He popped another chocolate in his mouth and held out the box.

Castiel took one warily, like it would burn him. It smelled absolutely heavenly; Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten chocolate. He nibbled it slowly, savoring it for as long as he could. “I’m Castiel,” he introduced himself to this eccentric man.

“Gabriel, but you can call me Gabe,” the man replied, getting up to light the candle near another bed. “Welcome home, Cassie.” Castiel frowned at the new nickname. Cassie sounded so feminine. He pushed that thought away for now to focus on this new environment.

“Relax, Cassie,” Gabe instructed him. “I can see you trying to think, and it makes my head hurt.” The shorter man sat back on his bed and pushed the now closed box of chocolates under it. “Get some sleep, I’ll tell you about everything in the morning.”

Castiel laid down on his small bed, surprisingly soft for what he expected. Still, he was stiff as a board. Everything he ever did was first planned out, each potential outcome analyzed and prepared for. He had even had a plan for when he thought he would go to prison. But now... now he was in an entirely unfamiliar situation with no idea what could happen to him. He had never even seen the castle apart from the shadow near the horizon, and now he was expected to, what? Clean it? Cook in it? He didn’t even know what being a servant entailed.

“Seriously, Castiel, go to sleep. It’s not as scary as you think it is, I promise,” Gabe reassured him before blowing out his candle. Castiel blew out his own and turned onto his stomach, pushing his hands under the pillow like he did at home. _Breathe,_ he told himself. After the events of the day, Castiel fell asleep quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

_Knock knock knock._ “Rise and shine!” Castiel started out of bed, ready to run from the castle soldiers coming to take him to debtors’ prison. After blinking around the room, the memories of the previous day flooded back to him. “Come on, up and at ‘em!” the footsteps receded to knock on other doors.

“Was that... the Servant Keeper?” Castiel rubbed his eyes.

Gabe stretched. “Anna. She can be a lot louder than she looks.” He rummaged in some drawers and tossed Castiel some clothes. “That’s our uniform, put it on.”

Castiel dressed as quickly as he could. These were far nicer clothes than he was used to: a billowy-sleeved white shirt, a thick red tunic, tan pants, a leather belt and matching leather boots.

“Yeah, you’re gorgeous, let’s go,” Gabe’s sarcasm snapped Castiel out of his fascination.

The sun wasn’t even up, it was so early. The servants all ate at this time, he learned, so that the royals could be served at the normal time. While he ate, Gabe introduced him to a few more servants. He also introduced Castiel to the head chef Charlie Bradbury and a few higher tier servants, one of which was named Kevin Tran. “Watch out for the others,” Kevin warned, glancing at a few others in green tunics like his own. A few stony-faced men sat in green tunics at the other table.

Castiel learned a lot during that first breakfast, and was relieved to know that he would be doing everything with Gabriel that week. “Today, we get to polish everything in the foyer.” Castiel brightened up a bit at that. He had polished things before. It didn’t seem to be that difficult. Gabe saw his expression and chuckled. “Just you wait. It’s like a damn dragon’s lair in there with all the shiny stuff.”

o o o

Castiel’s arms ached. They had been in the foyer for hours, polishing the entire surface of the room. He still couldn’t believe that pieces of the wall were actually made of gold. He fell into an easy routine with Gabe, trading stories (mostly from Gabe), bantering in hushed voices, and standing at attention when anyone passed through.

It seemed like days until the two flopped onto the couches that lined the walls, with cramped hands and tired feet. After several minutes, Gabe sat up. “You want a tour of the castle?” he asked, a little gleam of excitement in his eye. Castiel grinned back at him and they clambered off the couch.

The two walked down grand corridors, up and down spiral staircases, and into various sitting rooms. The raven-haired man observed it all, the stone and gold and tapestries like nothing he could ever imagine. Gabe pointed out the grand dining room, the smaller dining room, the council rooms, the women’s room, the various courtyards, and drawing rooms, all with different stories and histories. They passed the King’s quarters as well. One servant, Balthazar, came out of the double doors, holding a large hamper of laundry. He nodded at the two, but Castiel was too busy peering into the room to nod back. It was some sort of a sitting room, with a desk and couches, and another set of double doors. Gabe steered him away.

“Have you ever met the King before?” Castiel asked as they walked down another corridor.

Gabe scrunched his face up thoughtfully. “Once,” he murmured. “I was near his brother’s room and he asked if I had seen him. I said no, and he was off.”

“He has a brother?” Castiel asked. He didn’t know much about the king. In fact, he knew almost nothing.

Gabe’s lips twitched up in a smile. “His brother is his Chief Advisor, along with the title of prince. He’s younger, and when the late king and queen died, he pushed his brother to take the throne immediately. You’ve seen Sam, he’s tall, has long hair, a bit of resting bitchface.” Castiel vaguely recalled a very tall man walking around earlier in the day in the middle of a small crowd, signing something.

“What about the king? I don’t even know his first name.”

“It’s Dean,” Gabe murmured, smile dropping a bit. “He’s... interesting. Doesn’t go out much. He hasn’t been the same since the Rebellion, and his parents, you know. It was really hard on him, all the stuff that happened. He tries, he really does, but he’s under a lot of pressure.” The shorter man looked pensive.

Castiel was intrigued. “How do you know all of this? You’ve only met him once.”

Gabe stared at the floor for a second, then grinned. “I’ve been here for fifteen years, Cassie. I know everything. Now, let me show you some secrets.”

The castle had secret passages and hidden tunnels and secret rooms, and it was a little overwhelming to Castiel. Gabe went over the best routes in the passages to get from place to place. Castiel’s favorite place was a secret room hidden inside the passages where Gabe kept the books that the library didn’t have room for. He tried to memorize every twist and turn inside the dim stone walls, lit only by sparse torches.

After going over the layout several times, Gabe took Castiel up a narrow flight of stairs into another secret room (Castiel’s head swam with the sheer amount of supposedly secret space). There was a small grate very high on one of the walls. “You have to be really quiet in here,” Gabe whispered, carefully setting a chair near the wall. “What you’re seeing is one of the council rooms.” He climbed up on the chair and peered through the grate. “It’s empty,” he whispered to Castiel. “Here, take a look.”

Castiel climbed carefully onto the wooden chair and looked through the thin iron bars. “This used to be a public room, but several generations ago, an enemy got up here and listened to some plans the council had made,” Gabe continued talking. Castiel’s eyes darted to the door of the council room, which had just opened. A man strode in, shrouded in a velvet red cape. “Some war plans were foiled, and they had this room sealed off with concrete and stone, as you can see in the corner.” Something gold flashed on the his head. It couldn’t be... Castiel stifled a gasp. That was clearly a crown. It was the king. “So then-”

“Shh!” Castiel shushed him, straining to see more of the king.

“Did you just-”

“Gabe, shut up! It’s the king!”

Gabe immediately clambered up onto the same chair. They swayed dangerously for a moment, then settled, each man squishing his face to the iron grate. “Holy shit,” the shorter man murmured.

The king was young. And handsome. Castiel had never actually seen the king before, but god was he beautiful. He had taken off the red cape and was rolling his shoulders. Castiel could see muscle through the confines of the silk shirt and tight vest. The blue-eyed man let out an involuntary breath, and the king’s head whirled around. His eyes were green, emerald green, like Castiel’s favorite feathered pen he brought with him. It took less than a second before Castiel got a grip on himself and pushed Gabe down, the two squatting painfully on the chair together. Castiel held his breath. After counting to one hundred, he slowly looked back out into the room. 

The king must have not seen him; he sat down and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. Not the just-came-back-from-sparring tired, but the bone deep tired that no amount of sleep can erase. A tiny knot settled in Castiel’s stomach. He felt worried for the king. _That’s stupid,_ he thought to himself. _You shouldn’t worry about the king. He’s the king for god’s sake!_ Still, he watched the king draw his hands down his face and felt the pang of worry.

After another moment, the king stood and drew his cape back on, settling the large gold clasp in front of his right shoulder. The man let out a large breath and smoothed out his features into a mask of calmness. “Come in,” he said before there was any knocking, and several men entered the room. His voice was low, almost as low as Castiel’s awkwardly gravelly one, and it sent little shivers up his spine.

“We should go,” Gabe whispered, pulling Castiel off the chair. Castiel went with him, but only because he knew he had to.

The rest of the day was spent wandering about and picking up around the kitchen. Miss Bradbury had spotted the two men and dragged them into her kitchen, talking about chores and deep cleaning and several things that Castiel couldn’t decipher. The entire time, the king’s image burned in his mind. Dean, Gabe had told him. King Dean Winchester. He fell asleep that night thinking of Dean and secret passages and the shiny things he’d have to clean again the next day.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel didn’t see Dean for several more days. He and Gabe fell into a routine, either polishing or cleaning one of the dining rooms. Gabe told him a little more about his life. “My mom died when I was nine. She was a lady, but lost her status when she had a kid with her stablehand. I never saw him, I think they sent him somewhere. I don’t really feel like I need to go find him though, you know? But my mother was great. She was more than great. And she had known the late Queen Mary when they were young, so the queen let me stay at the castle. I worked here as a servant. I don’t know, I kind of like it this way. I get to learn things. Then when she and King John died, the new king didn’t make any staff changes, so here I am. What about you?”

Castiel had never told his story to anyone before. How did he consolidate twenty years to a few sentences? “Well, my parents were farmers. We grew corn and had a few cows. I was always terrible at farming. They were... passable parents. Not attentive, but not abusive either. When the Rebellion happened, they backed the rebels. Dad died in the fighting, Mom lost her head after. They gave me a few months to settle the farm’s debt, but I can’t farm worth a damn, and the drought got really bad and we had that horrible locust swarm a few months back and-” he paused to breathe. “And I was given a choice: debtors’ prison, or serve at the castle. So here I am.”

Gabe whistled low and stopped polishing silverware. “I’m glad you came here.” Castiel smiled. Gabe never showed him pity, just understanding. And after several moments: “So, did you ever see one of _them_?”

Castiel knew what he meant. An angel. A creature that lived in the depths of the forest, one with ethereal power and huge, feathery wings. Most thought that they were mythical, but Castiel knew otherwise. They had been helping the rebels with their magic, and when it spiraled out of hand, the angels turned on them. That was how his father died, or so he was told. “No,” Castiel lied. He didn’t want to remember anything about his parents or the rebels or the magic behind everything. Magic that was very illegal.

Gabe dropped the subject when he saw Castiel’s mind drifting off. Castiel continued his polishing, but all he saw were feathers.

o o o

It was one week after Castiel had been taken to the castle that he saw Dean again. He and Gabe were tidying a sitting room, laughing about an incident with a cake when Gabriel was fourteen, when the king and two men entered the room. Gabe and Castiel immediately shut up and stood near the wall with their heads bowed. Castiel’s palms itched. Dean was there, mere feet from him, and he couldn’t resist looking up through his lashes.

He was even more breathtaking in person. His hair was light brown, almost as gold as his crown in the light. His eyes were the same light green that Castiel had seen through the grate, but now he could see just how clear they were. His pillowy pink lips were pursed, but his eyes twinkled like he was resisting a smile. To Castiel’s surprise, Dean walked right up to them.

“Your majesty,” Gabe murmured, then elbowed Castiel inconspicuously.

“Your majesty,” Cas grudgingly let his eyes fall.

“Gabriel,” he greeted the shorter man. “And someone new. I haven’t met you yet.” Castiel resisted a shiver and looked up at the king. Dean’s eyebrow quirked. “What’s your name?”

“Castiel Novak,” he replied, begging his voice to stay steady. He knew he should keep his head bowed or look away or something, but his blue eyes stayed locked on captivating green ones.

“Castiel,” Dean said slowly, as if he was testing out how it felt. “Allow me to personally welcome you to the castle.” He smiled. It was a small smile, a soft one, but it looked so radiant that Castiel was nearly blinded by it.

After floundering for a lengthy second, he managed a, “Thank you, your majesty.”

The king nodded, almost to himself and turned around, walking out with his men. “Sir,” one of them asked. “Didn’t you need to get something in there?”

“I completely forgot what it was,” Dean replied with a chuckle.

After the king was out of earshot, Castiel let out a shaky breath. “That was... unexpected,” he murmured, sitting down on one of the chairs.

“Holy shit,” Gabe sunk down next to him. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard him speak. Or smile. What kind of sorcery did you do, Cassie?” Castiel shook his head. He was a bit floored by the encounter, and he and Gabe retired to their room early that evening.

“You’ve got goo-goo eyes, Cassie,” Gabe chuckled.

Castiel lay on his bed with his feather pen. “Do not,” he argued like a child.

“Do too,” Gabe argued back. “You were full on ogling him in there.”

“I was not.” He stroked the soft feathers, their light green bringing images of Dean’s eyes back to him.

“You’re so in love with the king,” Gabe teased.

“Of course I’m not. He’s just... attractive. You can’t deny that.”

Gabe laid back on his bed and grinned at the ceiling. “A lot of people are attracted to the king, but I can’t say I’ve ever been.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, tucking his pen into the bedside drawer.

“I’ve got other things.” Gabe winked and blew out his candle.

o o o

“Novak? Castiel Novak?” Castiel looked up from his spot on the floor where he scrubbed the dirty stone for all he was worth. It was the red-haired Keeper, Anna. Castiel and Gabe both rose and Castiel stepped forward. “The, uh, king would like to speak with you,” she said, sounding unsure of herself.

Gabe made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a chuckle behind him, but Castiel’s mind didn’t really process the words. “Me?” he asked. She nodded. “The king wants to talk to me?” She nodded again. After a moment, he asked again, “Are you sure?”

“He sent for you by name just a few minutes ago.”

“Tell me all the juicy details when you get back,” Gabe hissed in his ear before Castiel stood on shaky legs. “Things just got a lot more exciting around here,” he heard Gabe murmur before the door shut behind him and he was out.

Castiel was lead into the gardens, which momentarily distracted him from the heart-pounding meeting he was about to attend. There were walls made of flowers and vines, some short and some tall, that wound around the grounds in beautiful patterns. He passed four-tiered fountains with rose petals in the water, statues of long-forgotten gods and graceful women with crowns of bright flowers, and meticulous topiary of horses and other large animals. He was so enthralled by the colors around him that he bumped into Anna when she stopped abruptly and nearly knocked down an angry-looking merman statue.

_Shit_ , he thought. He hadn’t even opened his mouth yet and he already looked like an idiot. He straightened up and bowed with Anna, keeping his breathing even. He was only nervous because this man was a king, a very powerful figure. Yes, that was why. His heartbeat picked up when Anna suddenly patted his shoulder and left. So he was to be alone during this. That was... fine. He would be fine.

The king was walking towards him, discussing something with an older man. Green eyes met blue, and the king smiled, still talking to the other man. When the two were about twenty feet away from Castiel, the man bowed to Dean, who turned his head from Castiel to nod at him. He left.

“Castiel,” Dean nodded at him. _Bow you idiot_ , his brain reminded him. He bowed quickly.

“Your majesty,” his voice was a little rough. He hadn’t really thought about why he was here. Had he done something wrong? He had followed all of Anna and Gabe’s instructions, but why else would the king want to speak to him?

Dean’s throaty chuckle calmed him a little, and Castiel straightened back up. Dean looked amused, not at all angry. So maybe he hadn’t done something wrong. But-

“Walk with me,” Dean directed him down a stone path, his guards dropping to follow several feet behind the two.

They were silent for several moments. It was strangely calming, walking with Dean like this. The weird nervous tension he had been feeling slowly ebbed away until his curiosity got the better of him. “Do you often do business in the gardens?” he asked.

Dean glanced sideways at him, hie eyebrows raised. Castiel realized then that servants probably didn’t address the king without permission, but he didn’t feel threatened. Dean looked more amused than anything. It was then that Castiel realized that Dean was only a few inches taller than him. And probably only a few years older than him. “Sometimes,” Dean replied. “The gardens are better than an office, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed quickly. He might have been a crappy farmer, but he did love nature. 

After a few more moments, Dean opened his mouth again. “Do you know how to saddle a horse?”

They kept walking. Castiel had saddled a horse before. Before the rebellion, he had worked as a messenger for several months, riding atop a very skinny horse. “Yes,” he said. Castle horses were huge, but they couldn’t be much different than his old horse, right?

“And what about my clothes?” This question made Castiel stop. What did he mean, _What about my clothes_? Like the type of clothes? Where they’re from? Did they look attractive? Dean was smiling at Castiel’s hesitation, like it was a game.

“They look, uh, very nice, your majesty,” Castiel muttered, squashing his urge to look closely at the king’s body.

Dean laughed. “I mean do you know what each of these pieces are? Tunic, shirt, cape,” he touched each piece of clothing respectively.

Castiel felt his face heat up. Of course he knew the names of clothing. He felt incredibly stupid. “Yes, your majesty,” he cleared his throat.

“And how well would you say you can perform duties under stress?”

Castiel opened his mouth, and closed it. The farm stressed him out incredibly, and he couldn’t save it. Then again, he was adjusting to servant life very easily, and that was a little stressful. “Decently,” he settled on. His eyes stayed firmly fixed to a bush behind the king for several moments.

“Do you know what a squire is?” Dean asked, now looking... bashful?

“Yes,” Castiel said evenly, fighting to remember his limited schooling, “it’s young man who serves a knight.” Was Castiel going to learn about squires? Where the hell was this going?

“Well,” Dean turned and began to walk through the garden again. “Kings can have squires too. I mean, if they want one. And I am in need of a squire.” Castiel followed quickly. Did he want recommendations? He had only been here a little over a week, there was no way he knew enough about the others to help choose. Dean must have seen the incredibly confused look on Castiel’s face, because his smile returned. “I’m offering you the position, Cas. It’s yours if you want it.”

Again, warmth flooded to his face. He called him Cas. Like a nickname. Nicknames were given out of affection. He had called Gabe Gabriel, so he probably didn’t do that a lot. Castiel could barely help the stupid grin on his face. He called him Cas.

“Should I take that as a yes?” 

Right, the squire thing. Castiel schooled his features back to a relatively normal expression. Of course he wanted to be Dean’s squire. A squire was much higher on the food chain than a servant, and that was why he would take it. “Yes, of course, your majesty, I’d be honored.” As he thought about it, the stupid grin threatened to return. He’d be able to see so much more, to learn so much more. And be near Dean, but that was most definitely not why he was so excited. Definitely not.

“Good,” Dean said with a little smile, turning and walking back towards his guards. “I’ll have you moved to the squires’ rooms. I’m sure Zachariah has-”

“No!” Castiel blurted. “I mean, I’d like to stay with Gabe. Your majesty,” he added.

Dean gave him a strange little smile. “Alright then. I’ll have your things delivered to your room.”

They walked back in amiable silence. Dean glanced at him several times, but Castiel tried not to look. “Be in the kitchen by dawn tomorrow,” Dean said, startling Castiel out of his thoughts. “Charlie will tell you what to do.”

“Charlie?” Castiel asked.

“Charlie Bradbury, the chef.” He held up a hand. “Yay high, bright red hair, smacks you with a spoon if you try to eat anything before it’s ready,” he described fondly. Castiel remembered Miss Bradbury. He sounded close to her, Charlie. Castiel wondered how close. 

All too soon, they were out of the gardens and parting ways. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Dean said, donning a professional face.

“Yes, your majesty,” Castiel bowed. The king left the gardens, but Castiel stayed for a bit longer, mapping out as much as he could. After the initial excitement of what really amounted to a simple promotion, anxiety took its place. There must be so many responsibilities, ones he wasn’t even aware of. He should’ve asked more questions.

o o o

When the sun began to sink in the sky, Castiel returned to the servants’ quarters. “No, you idiot,” he heard Gabe’s voice floating from downstairs. “Blue is the next floor up. This is the _servants’_ floor, if you’ve gotten lost.” Castiel stepped off the last stair to see Gabe shooing away a guard with a box of blue tunics.

“It’s okay, Gabe, they’re for me,” Castiel took the box from in between the guard and Gabe and pushed into the room.

Gabe stared at him like he had grown another head. “Since when did you forget your colors?” he asked, shutting the door in the annoyed guard’s face.

Castiel kept his eyes fixed on the contents of the box. “I got promoted.” He lifted the blue material, rubbing it between his fingers. It was thicker than his old red ones, and much softer.

Gabe flopped onto his bed, silent for a moment. “Why’d they deliver down here then? Won’t you be moving up with the big shots?”

“I’d never leave my best friend, would I?” He gave Gabe a sly look over his shoulder.

Gabe grinned. “That’s my boy!” He immediately began to rummage under his bed. “I’ve been saving this, but I think this is a good enough reason to celebrate!” A large wine bottle came rolling out from under the mattress, and Castiel’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Where the hell did you get that?” he asked, the tunics forgotten in the box.

“I acquired it,” he winked.

The two stayed up for several hours, drinking and talking about the stuff squires do. Gabe even made Castiel try on the fancy blue tunic for him. When the bottle was empty and Gabe was snoring, Castiel blew out the candles, asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!” Gabe’s voice startled Castiel of the deep sleep he had been under. He nearly fell off the bed.

“Thanks for that,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Castiel’s mechanically rose from the bed, routine of the week settling in. The deep blue fabric in his hands woke him up a little more... It reminded him of where he’d be going that day.

“Excited?” Gabe slapped him on the back as they walked up to the kitchens.

“Yeah,” Castiel replied nervously. “I just have no idea what I’ll be doing...” The two fell in line to grab the servants’ breakfast made every morning before the chores began. Castiel was halfway through with the bread and jam before a firm hand fell on his shoulder.

“Castiel,” the female voice behind him said. Castiel turned to face Miss Bradbury, who he knew to be Charlie.

He stood. “Yes, hello, Miss Bradbury.”

She snorted. “Call me Charlie, and come with me.”

Castiel followed the woman out, throwing a last look at his friend. Gabe waved, Castiel’s unfinished bread dangling out of his smiling mouth.

Off the little dining area was another kitchen, this one larger and far nicer than any he had ever seen. More chefs scurried about, holding bowls and pots and utensils of all sorts. There was a large tray with shining dishes on it, presumably for Dean. It was then that Castiel realized that Charlie had been talking. “Sorry, what?” he asked, face coloring.

She laughed. “I said, make sure he eats the fruit, he needs more vitamins. And don’t let him sneak any booze into his coffee, it’s been a rough week for him.” She plopped onto a stool and plucked two pieces of toast from a nearby tray, offering one to Castiel. After several chews from the both of them, Charlie spoke again. “So,” she said, wiping a few crumbs off her apron, “Why’d he choose you?”

Castiel paused mid-chew. “What do you mean? The king just said he needed a new squire.”

“The king’s never had a squire. He’s never wanted one.”

Castiel nearly choked on his toast. “I did not know that,” he coughed.

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him as if trying to look through warped glass. The scrutiny grew until Castiel began to squirm and Charlie stood right up. “Sunrise is a few minutes away, up you go!” Her smile was bright, and Castiel was left confused. She was very strange, but he kind of liked her.

As he walked with the tray, other cooks placed things on the surface until it grew heavy. It had been over a week since Castiel had hauled anything, but his muscles remembered holding the bales of hay and his broken-handled toolbox carefully. The new boots on his feet were sturdy, sending dull thuds echoing off the stone walls. His feet remembered the path Gabe showed him and very soon, he was facing the two guards that stood diligently outside the large double doors.

“I’m, uh, the new squire,” Castiel told one of the guards.

“Castiel, is it?” the guard asked. He nodded, shifting the tray in his arms. Both guards gripped a door handle and pulled the carved wooden doors outward. There was the sitting room Castiel had seen earlier that week.

It was more magnificent than he remembered, but he also hadn’t seen it very well. Two large, overstuffed couches and one matching chair circled a fire place. One wall was almost entirely window, with a stately wooden desk looking over the view. Castiel set the full tray on a side table next to the chair and wandered over.

He had never seen the side of the kingdom opposite his village’s view. From this height, he could see a large lake in the dense forest, steam rising from it in the early sun. Hills rolled as far as he could see. It was breathtaking.

_Food_ , his brain told him. Should he bring the food to the king’s bed, or just wake him and tell him it was in the sitting room? He’d wake him, in case he needed anything else first.

Castiel knocked softly on the second set of double doors, then put his ear to them. No sound came from inside. He opened the door a crack to find Dean facing the wall opposite him. “Your majesty?” he whispered, though he knew whispering did no good. Castiel circled the large four-poster bed quietly. Dean had thrown most of his fluffy covers off and rolled onto his side, his sheets caught in what Castiel imagined to be a painful grip. His bare torso was damp with sweat and his eyes were shut tightly.

Castiel took a moment to appreciate Dean’s chiseled physique. Though he had labored for most of his life, Castiel had never achieved the muscle structure that Dean had. Castiel’s eyes snapped up to see Dean’s jaw clench, and he immediately felt guilty. The king might be having a nightmare, and here Castiel was, ogling him in his sleep.

“Your majesty,” Castiel murmured. Dean didn’t stir. Castiel moved cautiously forward and touched his arm. “Your majesty!”

In a flash of movement faster than Castiel thought possible, a dagger was held at Castiel’s throat and his wrist was gripped tightly in Dean’s fist. Did he pull that from under his pillow? Castiel didn’t move, searching Dean’s wild and uncomprehending eyes until they focused on Castiel’s face. The king blinked and immediately dropped the knife and released Castiel’s wrist.

“God, I’m so sorry Cas,” Dean’s voice was groggy with sleep. “I just, uh,” he swallowed.

“Had a nightmare?” Castiel finished, picking up the dagger carefully and replacing it on Dean’s bedside table.

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Not used to having someone here to wake me up, s’all,” he murmured.

“You’ve got me now,” Castiel smiled. Sleep-addled Dean was much less intimidating than kingly Dean, despite the knife held to his throat only moments ago. “And I’ve got breakfast.”

“Food,” Dean moaned, and Castiel couldn’t resist a laugh. When he stood in nothing but boxers, however, Castiel’s laugh caught in his throat. He turned around to give the king some semblance of privacy, and to prevent himself from further staring.

“Would you like a robe, your majesty?” he asked when he heard no rustle of cloth.

“Right, yeah, robe,” Dean muttered. “Not used to that either.” Castiel quickly found a burgundy robe on the floor and held it out to the green-eyed man, eyes still firmly fixed away from him. He probably should’ve found something that didn’t come from the floor, but it was safer for him if Dean was covered as soon as possible.

After a minute of rustling cloth, Dean was the one to chuckle. “Relax, Cas. I’m not what you’d call modest. Plus, you’ll be helping me get dressed.” Castiel’s eyes widened. _Quell the attraction. He’s your king, dammit!_ “Now,” Dean said, closing the topic. “Food.”

Dean made Castiel sit with him while he ate. The generous helpings of food on his tray included soup, rolls, toast, salmon, fruit, cheese, milk, and what Castiel assumed to be coffee. Dean chugged the dark beverage immediately.

“Charlie didn’t happen put any wine around here, did she?” Dean asked, glancing at the other surfaces of the sitting room.

“No sir. No booze in the morning,” Castiel repeated. Dean looked surprised.

“You’ve been conspiring with her, haven’t you?” he said with an easy smile.

“Yes, your majesty,” Castiel smiled back automatically. Dean’s smile was infectious.

Dean ate in silence for several minutes. Castiel wondered about his dreams and the knife that he evidently kept under his pillow. It was not his place to ask, but Castiel never could keep his mouth shut. “Were you having nightmares?” he asked.

Dean’s eyebrow rose, but there was no smile on his face. Castiel looked at him, determined not to look away. He would not appear intimidated, no matter how much so he felt. “Yes,” Dean said, breaking eye contact. After a pause, “About the Rebellion.”

Castiel nodded and decided not to push it. He may have not known much about the side the king had fought on, but he knew that Dean had fought, and that was enough. He was surprised when Dean continued on that topic.

“Did you fight?” he asked, tearing into a roll.

“My parents did. I chose not to take part.” Castiel felt the sudden urge to keep talking. “They... chose the wrong side. After they were gone, I was left a dead farm, and now I’m here.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling the king his abridged life story.

“I’m sorry,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel’s mouth opened in surprise. “Why are you apologizing to me? I should be apologizing to you.”

Dean finished the salmon quietly. “They were still my subjects,” he said to the plate. “They were our responsibility, and we fucked it up. It’s because of us that they felt the need to fight in the first place. They shouldn’t have died.”

A little surge of affection bubbled up in Castiel’s chest. He could see now why no one argued when Dean claimed the throne- he was genuinely a good man. His face was dark, turned downwards, undoubtedly remembering the terrible things that ended less than a year ago.

“You forgot the fruit,” Castiel said. Dean’s head snapped up in confusion. Castiel gave Dean what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You really should eat the fruit. Charlie tells me you lack vitamin C.”

After a second, Dean put on a fake frown. “Rabbit food. You’re definitely conspiring.” But the tension had drained from his shoulders. He stabbed a strawberry with the fork.

After Dean had eaten the majority of his food, Castiel took the tray out and had one of the guards outside the king’s quarters ring for a servant. It was Balthazar that arrived to take the tray away. “Blue is your color, Cassie,” the blonde man winked before disappearing with the tray.

“I’m going to bathe,” Dean called from his bedroom when Castiel walked back inside. The raven-haired man froze. Did Dean expect for Castiel to help? He couldn’t do that. “Don’t worry, I like to do that by myself. Just be back here in thirty minutes.”

Castiel sighed in relief. “Thank you your majesty,” he called. The sound of running water forced Castiel’s legs to carry him out of the room and down the hall. He beelined for a nearby floor-to-ceiling portrait of the late Mary and John Winchester. No one was around. As Gabe showed him, he wedged his fingers between two of the stones next to the painting and pushed an indent until he heard a click. The stones swung outwards easily and he slipped inside, closing the stone until the little metal contraption clicked the secret door shut.

Castiel found the least dusty spot in the corridor and sat down, scrubbing his face with his hands. He needed to snap out of it. Sure, Dean was kind, and easygoing, and good, with a godlike body, _damn..._ but he was the king. Castiel should be restraining himself a little more. He shouldn’t even address the king as Dean in his head.

No, he would squash these insignificant feelings immediately so that he could do his job. _They saved you from Debtors’ Prison, the least you could do is to stop pining for the king._ He could do it. This was just his loneliness manifesting itself as attachment to a man who was attractive, as no one could deny. Maybe Castiel could find someone else to turn his attention to.

_Denial_ , Gabe’s voice sang in his head. _You’ve got it bad and you know it._

_Shut up,_ he told imaginary Gabe. He was talking to himself. Great. He counted the time, standing and brushing himself off five minutes before he was supposed to return.

o o o

Castiel returned to find Dean gone. “Your majesty?” he called, poking his head in the bedchamber.

“Yeah, in here,” his voice floated from a little off-shoot of the room leading to an absolutely enormous closet.

“Oh my god,” Castiel breathed, walking into the space that was almost as big as the actual bedroom. Clothes were hung from wires strung about, everything from riding gear to beautiful evening wear.

“Yeah,” Dean huffed. “This stuff is a pain.”

Castiel turned to contradict him, but he shut his mouth. Dean was clad only in black pants, water from his bath still shining in his hair. _Not affected_ , Castiel told himself, _I am not affected by this._ With a shaky breath, he stepped forward. “A pain without a squire maybe, but now I can help.” _Yes, good. Do your job._

Dean sat heavily in a nearby chair with a chuckle. “Maybe I could get used to this squire thing. Alright Cas, what should I wear today?”

Castiel successfully picked out a silky white shirt, tall brown leather boots and a leather belt to match, and on top an emerald tunic, meticulously embroidered with golden thread, the Winchester family crest displayed proudly across the chest. And his red cape, of course. He managed to do this without so much as one glance at the king.

“You have a good eye for color,” Dean said behind him. He strode forward and pulled on the white shirt immediately. Castiel watched as he tucked it into his black pants, a tiny bit poking out on his left side.

“Your majesty?” Dean turned to him. “You have a little bit sticking out right there,” Castiel pointed to the untucked piece. Dean tried to tuck it back in, but it was just out of reach. “Let me,” Castiel muttered, reaching quickly to fix the bit of rebelling cloth. Dean stood stock still for a moment, barely breathing. He really wasn’t used to this.

“Thanks,” he cleared his throat. “I guess you’re supposed to be helping with this, huh?”

They fell into an easy pattern. Dean would pull on a garment and Castiel would fix and smooth it for him. Though Dean had claimed he wasn’t modest, he seemed wary of Castiel’s touch. The blue-eyed man swallowed any feelings he had about that fact and tried to make the least contact with his skin as possible. It was difficult- Dean’s skin was soft and warm and- _No._

It was done, and both men sighed in relief. Castiel inconspicuously brushed the remainder of dust off his tunic and made sure he was presentable. He could do this. He and Dean stepped out of his quarters and out into the castle, ready for god knows what else he would need to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel flopped onto his bed, thoroughly spent. “Oh no you don’t,” Gabe’s voice pierced through his exhaustion as the other body landed on his bed. “You have to tell me everything you’ve done today. Take pity on us, for we are but mere servants!” One of Castiel’s eyes opened to glare at the shorter man. Gabe held out a tiny painted pastry, and Castiel sat up, sighing.

“It’s a lot of hurry up and wait. There were meetings and processions and meals and-”

“No, no, start from the top.” Gabe leaned against the wall. “And don’t spare a single detail. I need to know.”

Castiel sighed. “I woke him up for breakfast, which was enormous, by the way.” Castiel told Gabe about the dagger, but didn’t mention the nightmares or their conversation about the rebellion. “I, uh, helped him get dressed,” Castiel said before being cut off by a round of giggles and some poking and prodding.

“You didn’t get handsy, did you Cassie? Oh man, that would be hilarious.”

Castiel turned a bright shade of red. “No! Shut up, Gabe, or I’m not telling you anything else.”

Gabe held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, shutting up.”

Castiel continued with the day’s events. Dean became strangely professional once they were out of his quarters. He still called Castiel ‘Cas,’ but Castiel was sure to correct anyone he introduced him to. He only wanted Dean to call him Cas.

They rushed around, and then Castiel was made to wait outside the Council room. He wasn’t allowed in, but he had to stay close, in case he was needed. Dean had gone to three council meetings that day, and then the lunch. Everyone ate in the great hall, and by everyone, Castiel meant nobles and upper class staff. Dean and Sam sat at the head table. Dean offered Castiel a seat at the head table, but Castiel opted to blend into the background like Sam’s squire, Garth. Garth was simple, but happy. Castiel found his naivety kind of refreshing.

He observed Sam during the meal. Sam was tall, almost frighteningly so, and incredibly smart. Castiel had caught snippets of Sam and Dean’s conversation throughout the hour. They talked about some of the recent books Sam had read, the upcoming hunts they would go on, and how much they would love a break from all the council stuff. As he described Sam, Gabe gazed off into the distance, a half smile on his face.

“What, are you in love with the king’s brother?” Castiel teased Gabe. Gabe winked.

He moved on, talking about how Dean had dismissed Castiel for a period of two hours because he had ‘private matters to take care of,’ most of which Castiel spent in the gardens, getting himself lost and finding his way out. He found a fountain he rather liked, one with an cherub statue protruding from the top. When he finally returned to Dean again, the king was in a very foul mood. Castiel went with Dean to approve things to go around the castle- he didn’t even know the king did that. Apparently every option was approved by a general steward first, and then it went to the king for final approval. Even Castiel was asked for approval on some things, and he just approved them all, like Dean was doing.

Dinner was even bigger than lunch. Dean had to change for that, and Castiel helped with that. It didn’t cause Castiel as much anxiety as it had that morning because Dean kept the shirt and pants on. When they actually walked back into the great hall, Dean relaxed a little. He made Castiel sit with him this time, as Garth was sitting with Sam. Many noblemen were invited to dinner, apparently, because the hall was almost full. Dinner lasted the majority of three hours, with what seemed like infinite courses and music and dancing. Castiel was served with the king, but he and Garth were given less. Even so, Castiel felt like he might burst at any second.

For dessert, Dean ignored everything but the pie in front of him. The pie might as well have been his queen for all the sounds he was making at it. Sam made more than one joke that Castiel had been itching to say, and he laughed harder than he ever had.

Afterwards, Dean retired to his room, where he talked to Castiel some more. His voice had lost its professional tone and his words were more relaxed. They talked about horses and birds and other animals. Dean said that if Castiel was an animal, he might be a cat. Or a bird. Castiel had to laugh at that. Dean told him about the stables and Castiel told him about his old job as a messenger. Dean promised him that they would visit the stables soon and see how well Castiel rode. The conversation was easy, and it was late when Dean finally laid down after undressing, Castiel’s red face hidden in the shadow.

“See you at dawn,” Dean yawned.

“See you at dawn. And your majesty?” Dean looked up. “Perhaps leave the dagger in your drawer tonight?”

Dean chuckled, embarrassed. “Yeah... sorry about that again.”

And there Castiel was, having just come down to the servants’ quarters and told Gabe about his day. Gabe’s mouth hung open when Castiel shut his. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless,” Castiel poked.

“It’s just... you’re... it’s like you’re a fucking noble! Oh my god, tell me about-”

Castiel answered a few more questions before his eyes began to close. He slept hard that night, dreams dancing with feasts and violins and birds.

o o o

Castiel was happy, the kind of happiness that he had never felt before. Sure, he was bone tired most of the time, but he was quickly learning how to be a proper squire. He learned to pick out Dean’s clothes while he was bathing, he learned how to speak to nobles and high class staff properly, and he knew the names of each of the servants that worked directly for the king. Balthazar, who was in charge of laundry and basic cleaning, became a friend of his, though Gabe stayed his closest companion. He accompanied Dean on hunts, walks in the garden, promenades throughout the grounds, sparring practice. He even attended Dean’s meetings with the peasantry of the kingdom, where the king would personally hear his subjects’ problems. He learned quickly, and found himself happy as ever.

Castiel (mostly) got used to the extravagance of the clothing and the food and the rooms he was brought to, but one thing he never could get used to was Dean. Dean, who was brave and yet insecure, dark but kind, and more enthralling than anything Castiel had ever dreamed of. Every night, Dean spoke to Castiel about anything and everything, with Dean in his bed and Castiel in the chair beside it. Castiel found himself telling Dean about every detail of his life, simply because Dean had asked. Dean told him about his fears, his wildest dreams, his childhood, and anything that came to mind.

As the days turned to weeks, Castiel found it harder to keep his emotions in check. He admitted it to himself after two months, and shortly thereafter to Gabe, that he had feelings for the king. Serious ones, at that.

Dean probably didn’t realize how tempting he was. He no longer flinched at Castiel’s touch when he helped him dress. Castiel could recall the time Dean’s shirt and vest caught together behind him, and he had to untangle them with one hand up the back of Dean’s shirt, where his hand lingered on the firm skin longer than necessary. He remembered an especially fancy dinner with special guests that required Dean to wear a golden band that rested on both shoulders around his neck. Castiel fastened it in front of Dean when he probably should have from behind, and when he leaned forward, he could smell the scent of spice and leather and wine that clung to Dean every minute of the day. He couldn’t get enough of it. And when they sat together every night, Dean’s sinfully pink lips were so close, itching to be tasted.

Castiel spent many nights talking his body down, willing himself to be physically unaffected, and many of these nights ended with him sneaking to the showers to take care of the painful problem. It didn’t help that Dean was used to Castiel. His lack of modesty was entirely believable now, and he never hesitated invading Castiel’s personal space if he needed to. Not that the blue-eyed man ever complained.

“Cas, do you consider us friends?” Dean had asked him one night.

It was a startling question for him. A squire was not supposed to be a friend, he was supposed to be an employee. But after spending so much time with Dean and sharing his stories and coming to trust him, he considered him everything. “Yes, your majesty. I’d like to think of us as friends.”

The king’s smile was nothing short of radiant. “I do too. So by all means, call me Dean.”

“Dean,” Castiel said aloud. How many times had he thought that name in his head? How many mornings did he wake with that name on his lips? He had whispered it to himself every so often, just to hear it aloud, but he had never really spoken it, not to anyone. And here he was. It felt comfortable in his mouth, the sound rolling out easily. “Dean.” He swore that something flickered in the king’s eyes, but perhaps it was just the firelight.

Still, Castiel didn’t miss the rough edge to Dean’s voice. “Good night, Cas.”

Gabe teased him about the stupid grin on his face, but that didn’t dampen Castiel’s spirits. He fell asleep that night feeling that all was where it should be. He slept, unaware of the darkness he would soon find.


	6. Chapter 6

The day was ordinary, if not a little tiring. Dean had been having nightmares again, and he never gave details, just vague hints and then a change of subject. Lunch had been painful, watching Dean attempt a civil conversation with an ignorant, malicious noble. Rubbing his eyes, Dean had asked for two hours alone in his chambers.

Castiel spent his free time talking to Gabe near one of the council rooms. The shorter man had spent the morning folding clothes and eavesdropping on the maids, and was doing his best to catch Castiel up.

“So apparently, Meg’s been sneaking out of the castle somewhere every night,” Gabe whispered. “Ruby thinks she’s going to see one of the groomsmen out at the stables, the one who-” Gabe stopped whispering as the council members walked out of a room.

“I didn’t know there was a council meeting today,” Castiel whispered. “De- The king’s not there.”

“This one is informal, Cassie,” Gabe said. “The king doesn’t have to be at these.”

One councilwoman said something and the rest laughed, including Dean’s brother who had just exited the room. Sam glanced towards the servant and squire. Castiel immediately bowed his head, but from the corner of his eye he saw Gabe smile. He was about to say something to Gabe when the shorter man’s smile disappeared and was replaced with fear.

Castiel looked up to the sound of shouts. Sam had collapsed to the ground, coughing and gagging.

“Sam,” Gabe whispered.

“Someone get the doctor!” a councilman called.

“I need to get the king,” Castiel reluctantly left Gabe standing outside the circle of concerned council members and ran to Dean’s room. Throughout their time together, Castiel had learned that Dean was incredibly protective of his little brother. Dean would want to be alerted immediately if anything were to happen to him.

“Dean!” Castiel called, pushing through the first set of doors. He pushed through the second immediately. “Dean! It’s...” Castiel trailed off.

The curtains were drawn, shrouding the room with candlelight. Dean was kneeling next to a small trunk covered in a piece of red velvet. There was a carved wooden bowl and a scroll with words- no- shapes on it. _Runes_ , his mind supplied. Runes of magic. The shapes glowed orange in the candle light and faded, as if Dean was chanting to it moments before. The air crackled around the two. Castiel could feel it in his bones, a sensation he felt before. It brought memories of excitement, curiosity, and overwhelming fear to the front of his mind. Magic.

For the first time, Dean looked like an animal frozen in fear. The seconds stretched, and the gears in Castiel’s head cranked slowly back into motion. He was here for a reason. “Dean,” said carefully.

That seemed to snap the king out of it. Dean rose fluidly and stalked towards Castiel, the fear the blue-eyed man remembered now coursing through his veins. Castiel was the one who stood frozen now. Dean’s easygoing features were darkened with anger, the wild kind of anger that paired with panic to become dangerous. Castiel had never been afraid of Dean, not really, but right then, he was terrified.

Dean shoved Castiel backwards, his spine hitting the doorframe painfully. His hands pinned the shorter man back. Though they were nearly the same height, Castiel felt very small under the cold, intense emerald of Dean’s stare. “I told you not to interrupt me,” Dean growled low in his throat.

Castiel felt his body respond without his permission. He had imagined many scenarios with him pinned to a wall by Dean, the usually professional voice rough in his ear. It did not, however, involve fear. Castiel took a deep breath to calm himself, inhaling the spicy smell of Dean, which did nothing to slow the beat of his heart. “It’s Sam,” Castiel squeaked. “He collapsed.”

Dean’s anger flooded away immediately. “Where?” 

“East wing council room, second floor,” Castiel replied. Dean let him go and hurried towards the door.

At the last second, he turned around. “Do not leave this room,” he commanded. “Not under any circumstance.” Castiel nodded and Dean slammed the door behind him.

Castiel slumped against the wall and slid until he sat on the floor. Dean had been practicing magic. Highly illegal magic. And Castiel had walked in right in the middle of it. What would Dean do? The easiest thing to do would be to kill Castiel. No witnesses, no crime. But it was Dean. Castiel closed his eyes. It was Dean, the man who opened up to him and made him feel whole. The Dean who had laughed with him and taught him things. The Dean he only recently admitted he loved. Castiel knew he could be imprisoned or worse for not reporting an offense like this, but he couldn’t betray Dean like that. He wouldn’t.

The crackling of magic had faded to nearly nothing, and still Castiel didn’t move to inspect the items in the bedroom. He was rooted to the spot on the floor, waiting, wondering what Dean was going to do.

It seemed like mere minutes before Dean returned, the squeaking of the door’s hinges startling Castiel out of his thoughts. He scrambled back up the wall quickly to face the older man.

Dean stood at the other end of the room, his eyes hard. For a moment, nothing moved.

“Is Sam okay?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean’s eyes dropped to the floor. “He’s fine. Just had a bad allergic reaction. He’ll be in the infirmary tonight.” More silence.

“Dean-”

“Don’t,” Dean said harshly, eyes back on Castiel. “I don’t want to hear about how there’s darkness in me, or how I’m destroying my soul or going against the natural order or any of that bullshit. You don’t know my story, Cas, you don’t get to judge me. You-”

“Still think you’re the same man from an hour ago,” he interjected.

Dean’s anger morphed into confusion. “What do you mean?”

Castiel steeled himself against the sharp words and walked up to Dean with conviction. “You are the same. I still respect you and trust you and care for you, the same as I did before I walked in here.” He didn’t mean to add that part about caring for him. Oops. _Keep going_ , he told himself. “I hope you don’t think me so little as to devalue the friendship we have from this one instance.”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s a lot of friendship you feel if you’re willing to overlook something like this.”

Castiel didn’t back down. “Yes, it is.”

Dean’s face softened. “You’d be killed too if anyone found out,” he murmured.

“Yes, I would.”

Something slipped in Dean’s eyes, and the sheer amount of pain Castiel saw stole the breath from his lungs. Something was wrong, very wrong, and Dean was carrying it with him. He didn’t know who reached first, but suddenly he and Dean were gripping each other tightly. 

“I’m here Dean,” Castiel murmured into the man’s shoulder, fingers digging into the back of his tunic. “I’m not leaving, I’d never betray you.” Castiel felt so warm there in Dean’s arms, breathing in his scent. The taller man’s breath was hot on Castiel’s neck. He had imagined this so many times, just a simple hug, but his stomach was churning like a whirlpool.

“Thank you,” Dean whispered after a minute, pulling away. His face was red, but there were no tears. Castiel shut the doors that lead into the sitting room and sat against a wall, tired from the emotional whiplash. Dean sat beside him. Neither of them moved to touch the magical objects.

“Now that we’ve established my, uh, that I’m not going to say anything,” Castiel stuttered, “can I have a little more information about this?”

Dean’s head fell against the wall, bow-legs pulled up to his chest. He was quiet for several minutes, for so long that Castiel almost said something. “The kingdom’s always struggled, even before I was born,” he began. “It’s taken hard work to feed everyone and contain disease and fight off enemies, but we’ve managed to make it work for a while. Until last year.” Castiel nodded, urging him to continue. “When the Rebellion started, it seemed pretty hopeless, but I still thought we could salvage what we had. Then my parents were killed, and Chuck had a vision.”

“Chuck?” Castiel asked.

“He’s the seer. You might have seen him around here, he’s got kind of wild hair and five o’clock shadow. Looks like he’s afraid of everything.” Castiel remembered seeing the man once down in the kitchens, talking quietly to Charlie. “So Chuck came to me and gave me the prophecy.”

“What did it say?” the blue-eyed man asked, hesitant to interrupt.

Dean closed his eyes. _“The sun’s circled respite closes  
And restless lay the sheep  
The dark in Righteous Man exposes  
And souls good Death will reap  
The land betrays the legacy  
And stoic stone will cry  
Salvation lies in ecstasy  
So let the raven fly,”_ Dean quoted, monotone.

Castiel repeated the words over in his head, and still couldn’t make sense of most of them. “Have you figured out what it means?”

“Some of it, I think,” Dean answered, finally rising to clean up the objects in the center of the room. Castiel scooted closer on the floor, but kept a few feet’s distance. “I worked out that something’s going to happen one year after the fighting ended. Something bad. I just can’t figure out the thing about the damn raven.” The green-eyed man disappeared, the wooden bowl in hand. He came back shortly with the inside clean and tore up the parchment with the dark runes on it. He folded the velvet, and put everything inside the little trunk, along with a feather pen, a box of matches, and a small leather-bound book. The little trunk was carved ornately, almost like the little cube Castiel had hidden under his bed.

“Do you think it means a literal raven?” Castiel asked, fascinated by the things in Dean’s hands. It took all of his strength not to get up and inspect them closer.

“I have no fucking idea.” The words held no venom as Dean shoved the trunk under his bed.

Castiel still didn’t understand the reason behind Dean’s magic. There was a prophecy that foretold of death, but how was magic going to stop it? Dean seemed to understand what was going through Castiel’s mind, because he continued. “One of the lines says _The land betrays the legacy._ I think that means me, the legacy of the throne, is going to have a lot of problems with the land. You know, droughts, crop failures, locusts.” Castiel’s eyes closed. Drought, crop failure, locusts. Everything that had destroyed his farm. “My spells are for the land, mostly. All this rejuvenating and rebirth mumbo jumbo to try to get the crops back and feed everyone. It’s just... for everything that goes right, something goes wrong.”

They sat together again, quiet. If a little tingle ran through Castiel where Dean’s shoulder pressed against his, he hid his idiotic smile. “Do you believe in angels?” Dean asked after a while.

“Yes,” Castiel whispered.

“I think it’s kind of stupid, that we have all these laws based on them when most of the kingdom doesn’t believe,” Dean chuckled. “But I think I do. Where else would magic come from? And the sightings, the giant feathers found... Yeah, I believe.”

“I’ve seen one,” Castiel muttered. Dean turned his head in surprise. “My parents were part of the rebellion. You must have heard the rumors, that they were using the angels’ magic to win.” He remembered arguing with his father and pleading with his mother. They would stumble back from their ‘meetings’, burned and bruised by the angels‘ power. _Don’t do this,_ he would beg. They would be cut by the sharp feathers. _This has to stop,_ he would demand. He knew that the angels were almost wild animals, and that they wouldn’t take orders from humans forever.

“I was never a part of what my parents did, but I saw them from the forest edge once. At first, I thought they were with a man, but when he shouted, huge wings puffed out behind his back.” The wings were the lightest blue that Castiel had ever seen. He knew that the situation was bad, but the angel was... ethereal. Castiel wasn’t so much afraid as he was awed.

“You didn’t see it up close?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. “No. I was’t supposed to see it, I don’t think. And I wasn’t in a great place with my parents, so I didn’t ask.” Dean shifted, and his leg brushed Castiel’s. 

Castiel gave Dean a sideways look. This was the most relaxed Castiel had ever seen him when he was fully awake. He had observed Dean’s body before, especially when dressing and undressing him, as was his job, but even in those moments, he didn’t get to study Dean’s face. He looked tired, yes, but the lines in his skin had smoothed, as if he were no longer carrying a huge weight.

Dean’s emerald eyes turned on Castiel. “I don’t want to do anything else today.”

The blue-eyed man nodded and pushed himself up to stand, but Dean’s fingers clamped tightly around his wrist. “Don’t leave.”

A little rush went through Castiel at those words. Dean wanted him to stay, and he sounded almost desperate. “I’m just going to tell a guard to cancel the other things you have to do today. You are a king, you know.” Dean snorted, but let his wrist go.

Castiel hurried across the sitting room and to the main entrance to Dean’s quarters. “The king is retiring for the day and will not be attending any events happening before tomorrow.”

One guard blinked at Castiel. “Nothing? But there’s another meeting-”

“Reschedule it,” Castiel commanded with a nod, and shut the doors firmly. He returned to Dean’s room to find the man sprawled out on top of his covers, hands over his eyes. “Dean?” he asked, peering down at him.

“Sam’s allergic to lamb,” Dean said, chuckling behind his fingers. He removed his hands. “Sit with me.”

Castiel swallowed thickly and sat on the edge of Dean’s bed. The man scooted over and patted the space next to him. Carefully, Castiel situated himself fully on Dean’s bed, but sitting up with his legs stretched in front of him. He didn’t know if he could handle laying beside that man without something embarrassing happening.

“Did Sam eat lamb recently?” Castiel asked, following the drastic change of topic.

“Yeah. Apparently he requested snacks in his little meeting. The moose can eat his own body weight, and that’s saying something. There was one time when we visited the Harvelles that...” Dean continued to talk about Sam and their childhood. He must have been more worried for his brother than he let on. He talked quietly, and at some point, his smooth low tone had lulled Castiel right to sleep.

o o o

Castiel woke with a start and a stiff neck. The room was definitely not his, where- Oh. Right. It was Dean’s room, and the events of the day came flooding back to him. In the dim candlelight, Castiel noticed that Dean was asleep as well. He had rolled towards Castiel in his sleep and had the hem of his tunic in his grasp. Castiel pulled his eyes away from the sight and untangled the fabric from Dean’s hands. The man didn’t stir.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to stay sleeping with Dean throughout the night, but he didn’t know how Dean would feel in the morning. No, better to arrive with food like he normally did. Now... how did he get Dean to bed properly?

Castiel undid the laces on the back of Dean’s shirt, as he was lying on his stomach. As gently as he could, Castiel maneuvered Dean’s sleeping form onto his back and folded the shirt neatly. The boots were easier to get off, and he managed to remove Dean’s tight pants with little jostling. This was the first time he could openly observe Dean’s form without him seeing, and he committed every inch to memory before tucking the blanket securely around him. On a whim, Castiel gently carded his hands through Dean’s light brown hair. It was so soft. The blue-eyed man felt a little shudder of want run through him before he left, shutting each door quietly behind him.

Castiel trudged through the secret passages towards the servants’ quarters, growing wearier with each step he took despite his nap. He didn’t want to talk to Gabe. He had been accustomed to telling his friend everything about his day each night, but he couldn’t tell him about this particular day.

Luckily, Gabe wasn’t in their room when Castiel returned. He sometimes came back at weird hours, or not at all. He claimed that ‘the best mischief was made at night.’ So Castiel did what he needed to do and fell face first into bed, passing out immediately.


End file.
